


disquiet

by asstarion (laveIIans)



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Falling In Love, One Shot, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29464422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laveIIans/pseuds/asstarion
Summary: Each day, each little moment they share together, snatched as they are between travelling, fighting and gods only know what else, she tries to unravel him further. Tries to pry apart the carefully twisted walls he has ensnared himself with, cordoning off his very soul from the rest of the world. She means well, any fool could tell that, and she trusts him. She wants him to trust her in return: for him to share himself with her, to fully partake in this...unionthey have now found themselves in.
Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s), Astarion/Female Charname (Baldur's Gate)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	disquiet

**Author's Note:**

> A belated Valentine's Day gift: Astarion muses about his relationship with Tav, puzzling out what it might mean for them - and him...

He watches her - has been watching her for some time, truth be told, ever since she fell asleep. He tells himself it's simply a protective instinct, ensuring her safety while she is at her most vulnerable, but he cannot take his eyes off her, and nor does he want to. She is so peaceful, curled up in her bedroll, lips slightly parted and hair in a messy halo about her pillow. It would be so easy to lay beside her, taking in the heat of her body and the fire, and will himself into true sleep. 

Each day, each little moment they share together, snatched as they are between travelling, fighting and gods only know what else, she tries to unravel him further. Tries to pry apart the carefully twisted walls he has ensnared himself with, cordoning off his very soul from the rest of the world. She means well, any fool could tell that, and she trusts him. She wants him to trust her in return: for him to share himself with her, to fully partake in this... _union_ they have now found themselves in.

It has been so long. Astarion has never dared allow himself to trust another in centuries, because trust, as with everything else good and wholesome in this world, can be quickly and easily corrupted into something cruel and painful. Cazador taught him that lesson - perhaps the only kind thing his master ever did - and he will not soon forget it. He has done it himself, has he not? Laying on the charm thick and heavy, seducing all and sundry into Cazador's lair. He led them to their painful, drawn-out deaths at his master's hands, watching them fight helplessly as the vampire restrained them with no effort, crushing all the fight out of them until they could only lie limp in his arms as their blood ran down their necks. Cazador likely put on this little show all for his benefit, with each drop of blood to the floor a deafening reminder of all he desired and could not have for himself.

Their suffering; their agonising final moments. He would be lying if he said he didn't feel a crumb of guilt in the matter, but every alternative was worse. Cazador's thirst was only rivalled by his rage, and both held limitless cruelty. Death was a blessing for the poor souls he feasted on, and Astarion would receive no such mercy. For him, only the weight of centuries would do. 

He has only begun to open himself up to her; the walls have not quite crumbled down. Her warmth, her smile, her easy optimism and hope in the face of all but certain hell... it _terrifies_ him. Perhaps she sees each day as a challenge to be conquered; perhaps the tadpole has already begun to warp her mind to its fancy. And her kindness, even in the face of all he is, and all he has ever done, confounds him beyond belief. Had Astarion ever been so keen to help and comfort in his mortal life? He cannot quite remember; almost everything faded away in the wake of his master's lash. The fact he still knows himself, more or less, is a truth he has had to bitterly cling to, tooth and nail, against the only devil he will ever fear.

This does not seem to bother her. His past, his deeds, do not faze her. She offers him compassion. _Pity_. It fills him with bitter rage, but also a deep fear that never quite leaves him. He waits for the inevitable moment she will betray him - perhaps to a monster hunter, or to whatever twist of the knife fate has in store for him - and the fact it has not already happened makes it harder and harder. He snaps at her, lashes out, almost hoping to spur her into doing what his heart begs her not to, because it will be the worst pain he has ever known... but he knows she will. Someday: it is not a matter of _i_ _f_ , but _when_. She would be mad not to, wouldn't she? Why risk it all in his name? The longer he stays with the party, the more of a target he scrawls on their backs, and if his master ever catches wind of her existence...

Perhaps it is another of Cazador's tricks; certainly the most cruel of them yet. To give him a tantalising taste of freedom - from the weaknesses of a vampire spawn; from control, rules, and the dank cage he calls home; from _him_. To show him the love of another, freely offered and given, to the point that he even begins to feel genuine joy for the first time in... far too long. And then, as with all things, it will be yanked away from him. He will go back to his master with his ever-unpredictable whims, always cruel but never consistent, and she will be gone, forever out of reach. Maybe Cazador will even kill her in front of him, just to show he can. In time, the pain will make Astarion forget everything about her: the taste of her blood; the shape of her face; the sound of her voice, his name on her lips like a prayer; the feel of her arms around him, anchoring him further into a hell of his own making.

Astarion turns his back on her, desperate to empty his mind. He cannot, _will not_ , think of her at all. These feelings - he dares not name them - will only end badly for the both of them. She deserves someone as kind as she is, with a good heart. Preferably a heartbeat, too, he supposes. 

Mind reeling, he gives up on sleep altogether and stalks his way through the nearby woods, taking out his frustration on the necks of the unlucky creatures he comes across. He doesn't even drink their blood, not properly at any rate; this is murder for murder's sake. An owl watches him from the treetops, turning its head to face him without moving its body. The weight of its gaze makes him uneasy, but going back to camp would mean admitting defeat, wouldn't it? He angrily kicks a tree, muttering several curses as the force of the movement makes itself known seconds later. Those were good boots, quality leather, and now he's gone and scuffed the toes. _Brilliant_.

The owl hoots at him and flies away. After a moment's pause, he heads back to camp, too frustrated to hunt. Sighing, he moves back to his bedroll, thankful for the fact he had seen fit to move it closer to the fire yesterday, and decides to take one last look at her before he sends himself into a trance.

She looks back at him. _Oh no_. How long has she been awake? Did _he_ wake her up, stomping about like an angry toddler? 

"Astarion," she murmurs, trying to sit upright. In her barely awake state, she falls back down like a rag doll. "I woke up and you were gone. Where did -"

He puts a finger to his lips, shaking his head. "Hush, darling, it's alright. I couldn't sleep, I'm afraid. I don't think this tadpole agrees with me much." 

She stifles a laugh with her hand before beckoning him closer. He gladly obliges. "Were you hungry?" she asks quietly, looking him straight in the eye. "You should have woken me up. I would have let you." And she _would_ have, he knows that; she would do anything for him without thinking twice. He doesn't deserve it, and he never will, but he will not repay her love with wanton cruelty.

Astarion shakes his head, plastering on a smile. "No, I wasn't hungry. Although, if you're that desperate for a bite..." He playfully lunges at her, pressing his lips to her neck in a quick kiss. "Still feeling charitable?" He looks up at her, winking. 

She rolls her eyes at him. "Only if you're actually thirsty... which I can tell you're not. And if you're out of bed at this hour doing gods only know what, then that's not a good sign." She scoots right next to him, placing a hand over his. When she speaks again, her voice is softer, gentle: from a lover to a lover. "You can talk to me, Astarion. If there's something bothering you, if it's Cazador, whatever it is -" she laces their fingers together "- I promise you can _trust_ me."

And that's the problem. He can... and he can't. The mention of his master's name only makes it worse, turning the frisson of nerves into a full-grown ache. 

He disguises the wince by kissing her hair. "You should get some rest. We'll all sprout tentacles if you're not there to guide us." 

Her face falls, and he pretends his stomach doesn't drop seeing it happen. "... Alright, then. But you _can_ trust me, Astarion." Her expression is somewhere between hope and sadness. "You know that, don't you?"

"I... I know." 

She lies back down in her bedroll, and he moves away, preparing himself for a mental battle in his own when she reaches out, grabbing his hand.

"Astarion?" Her voice trembles.

He looks down at her. The prick of guilt becomes a stab. "Yes, my love?"

She fidgets, avoiding his gaze. Her cheeks turn an adorable shade of scarlet. "Will you... uhh..."

When she doesn't continue, he smirks. "I know I'm _technically_ a mind-reader now, but I'd prefer to be a gentleman about it, so that means you need to use _words_ , darling. Good, old-fashioned speech." 

"It's embarrassing."

"Oh, you precious little thing," Astarion chuckles. "My dear, I've seen you naked. We've been intimate now not once, twice... how many times was it again? I'm afraid I rather lost count. I was far more focused on... _other_ _things_." He moves a tuft of hair out of her face, letting his hand linger on her cheek for a moment. "Point being, I think we've long since passed the point of embarrassment together, don't you agree?"

"I... I suppose so." She slowly meets his gaze, smiling nervously. "But you have to promise not to laugh."

"Darling, I think you _enjoy_ tormenting me. Fine, I promise." He gives her a theatrical bow. 

"Will you... will you sleep with me tonight?" She frowns as he bursts into laughter. "No! _No_! _Not like that_! And you promised not to laugh!"

"I'm sorry, but it was impossible not to." 

"I just... I sleep better when you're nearby. And I want to go to sleep with you holding me. You don't have to stay after that if you don't want to, I know you don't sleep," she adds quickly. 

"Darling," he smiles - a _proper_ one, this time. "You truly got so flustered asking me to cuddle you? And there I was, thinking that was part of the job description, really." He gently pushes her slightly, positioning her until there's enough room in the bedroll for them both. Astarion lies down on his back; she lays her head on his chest as he slides an arm around her. "There we go. Are you comfy?"

"Yes," she says happily, burrowing into him. "Are you?"

"You know, I'm not quite sure. A beautiful, half-naked woman is pressing herself against her thigh and using me like a pillow. Do you think I should file a complaint to Sune?"

She laughs, playfully striking his chest. "Fine. Keep your secrets."

"I'll definitely make a complaint to the next cleric we come across."

As she drifts away, he strokes her hair, marvelling at its softness. She is beautiful, kind, and certainly the moral compass of their merry band of misfits: he wouldn't be surprised if she didn't have celestial blood in there somewhere. And she loves him, truly and openly, unfettered by the doubts and fears that plague him. She even lets him feed from her, knowing - _trusting_ \- that he will never hurt her, and it amazes him that she is so willing to make herself vulnerable before him; the very thing that has scorched him for centuries, hunting him like a loathsome disease, she _embraces_ around him. Where vulnerability was his personal torment, she takes it in stride, perhaps seeing it as simply another facet of being with him. Another problem; another little innocence of hers that he quashes by his very nature. 

Astarion would do anything for her, and that is a weakness he grapples with. Were anything to happen to her, he would be lost. He has known her only a few months now, and yet it is frighteningly easy to simply lose himself in her; to dare, with all the elegance of a stumbling colt, to love her in return. Her smile is the greatest weapon she has against him.

But he is a monster, doomed to skulking in the shadows and fending off pitchforks - and perhaps a part of him even deserves it, with all the blood on his hands. He _cannot_ be with her: it is simply wrong. A crime, even, or at least it should be.

She moves against him in her sleep, smiling. Tears come unbidden to his eyes, and he roughly wipes them away before they fall. 

He closes his eyes. Perhaps, if she loves him in spite of it all - perhaps there is hope. And hope is a dangerous thing... but also healing. Maybe it can tend to all the broken bits inside him; maybe she can teach him how to love again. To love, and be loved, is perhaps the greatest act of defiance he can offer until he drives the stake through Cazador's heart. And even after that day comes, there lies the future. One with her, he thinks - no, he _hopes_.

And with that thought in his head, Astarion smiles, relaxing into his first true sleep in a long time.


End file.
